An Open Invitation
by E's My Brand Of Heroin
Summary: A story of self-discovery and maybe acceptance. Bella, a mirror, and lots of wine. Can she be inspired by nature and friendship?  O/s written for DCM Squeeze My Lemon Blog


A/N

All the usual disclaimers apply. I don't own anything, nor do I make any money from this. I do tend to use the characters in a less than savory fashion, but I do hope you will find them as beautiful as I do. Even their faults.

Also, this fic contains references and depictions of homosexuality and a little poly love. If this isn't your thing, beg out now. If you do enjoy the story, no matter what your "thing" is, please leave me love.

AOI was beta'd by the very lovely and incredibly elusive Dellaterra. I want to thank her so very much for her ability to work so quickly and to put up with my apparent hatred of apostrophes.

Mostly, I want to thank shpwhitney for her invitation to write this piece for Dirty Cheeky Monkeys Blog under the Squeeze My Lemon challenge.

Xo,

E's

**Blog: dirtycheekymonkeys(dot)blogspot(dot)com/p/squeeze-my-lemon(dot)html  
>FF: fanfiction(dot)netu/2258597/dirtycheekymonkeys**

***An Open Invitation***

"What do you mean you've never seen it?" Rose stirred her drink and eyed me like I was slow.

The men suddenly became incredibly interesting. "I haven't had steak in forever. You know, I suck at cooking it, but I hate that it's all I order at restaurants. But why order a pasta dish when I could make that at home? It's freakin' expensive though."

"Are you done?"

"Nope. And I'm not discussing my _down there_ again."

"Bella, you're being ridiculous. It's not a big deal. I mean, it's your body. It's not like I'm suggesting you videotape the deep sea dive and post it on x hamster or something."

"Hamsters? What?" I was too confused to be embarrassed.

"Oh my God, Bella. Do you really not even look at porn? Okay, tell me you at least touch it. Under the covers, in the dark, late at night? Something?" She was thoroughly exasperated at this point.

"Didn't I say we're not discussing this? I'm trying to eat here."

"No, you're trying to order. Besides, I'm not being dirty. Jesus, Bella! All I'm saying is that even doctors suggest you do that kind of shit so you know your own body. Okay, will it make you feel better if I'm totally clinical about it?"

"Nope. And I hope you aren't having these conversations with your patients." I still hadn't looked up from my menu but hadn't a clue what any of the words meant.

"If they asked, I would. But, no, technically since I'm in the children's ward, I don't generally talk about those things," she snarked. I wanted to slap the smirk off her face. But to be honest, if I couldn't talk about sex, I probably wouldn't slap anyone either.

It's not that I had never touched it before. It just didn't interest me. And porn, well, it made me feel uncomfortable and kind of dirty. I didn't grow up in a religious home by any means, so it's not like I thought masturbation was evil. I think well-intentioned parents often screw up their kids anyway without meaning to. My mother was somewhat of a "free spirit." Essentially, she walked around in her bra (when she wore one) in front of my friends, and loved to talk about sex. Don't get me wrong, she wasn't one of those creepy parents with no boundaries. She didn't talk about her own sex life, although I could generally hear it anyway, but she wanted to make sure I knew _everything_ about the birds and the bees (especially how babies were made). I think she wanted to ensure I didn't end up with a "surprise," as she called it. So I guess, in a sense, her plan worked.

Even when I went to live with my father during my junior year of high school, and had all the opportunity in the world to have sex, I just didn't. Charlie went fishing from sunrise until sunset and often asked his best friend's son to keep me company, or protect me, or whatever. I liked Jake. I wanted to "really" like Jake, but it just wasn't there. He went from a cute kid to a hot guy in a year and almost looked like a man at 16 but still, I didn't have those feelings. He had tried kissing me a few times, but all I could ever feel for Jake was friendship.

There was actually a point in high school when I thought I might be a lesbian. I couldn't understand what all the fuss was about Mike or Tyler, even after Jess and Lauren talked about each one of their body parts individually. There was this girl, Angela, who wasn't your "traditional" pretty, but she was one of the only people who was genuinely nice to me when I came to Forks. She was sweet and had a really gentle way about her. She sat in front of me in English, and when she would take down her knotted ponytail, the scent of lemons, heliotrope, and lilies wafted around me. It's what I remember the most about her. I was never aroused, but there was something about her that I didn't feel with anyone else. At the time, I thought that was it.

By the time I got to college, I was positive I was broken. I had heard about orgasms and I had even seen a couple of penises. I did the stuff I was supposed to do with them, and I suppose the boys liked it because they finished, but when it was my turn, I would stop them. Kissing, groping, and even a hand down the pants was okay, but it all still made me feel awkward, and most of the boys hadn't a clue what they were doing anyway, so it wasn't worth the trouble. Finally, I put my lesbian theory to the test when I got drunk in a bar one night. There was a girl—I don't even remember her name—and the anonymity of the encounter might have been what made me brave enough to do it in the first place. She was pretty and friendly and sat next to me at the bar. We talked and drank, and by the end of the night, we were in the back hallway of the bar kissing. When she took my hand, I followed her home. From what I remember, we barely made it inside her doorway before she was on her knees in front of me lifting my denim skirt. She was begging me for something and I didn't quite understand what was happening until her mouth was on me. Thank God for alcohol. I think it was the only thing that let me just shut the fuck up and enjoy. And enjoy I did. I remember that I hadn't felt anything like it before. It was wet and so very achy until she kept going and the ache flushed to a warm rush through my body. But when it was my turn to touch her, I froze. I think I burst into tears, and she must have called me a cab, though I can't quite recall getting home that night. I never saw her again.

I tried not to think of sex anymore after that. I had some friends but rarely went out, and I turned down every offer that sounded remotely date-like from both men and women. I met Rose at my first job out of college. We had nothing in common—not our looks, or jobs, or even how we preferred to spend our leisure time. Miraculously though, it was just the friendship I had been yearning for. She wasn't phony, like Jessica, who only cared about what others thought, but she had an edge to her that Angela could never even fake. Rosalie was my complete opposite, but I truly believe we balanced each other, like mirror images in Bizarro world. Her standards were high for men, and even higher for her friends. The fact alone that she chose me implied that I was unique and special. I knew that I was; I just wasn't sure how.

Rosalie finally relented and let me have my dinner in peace. She prattled on about some guy in administration and how she was trying to figure out what department he was in. I honestly tried to listen, but seeing guys in real life barely meant anything to me, and hearing about them was no different. Something about really tall, broad shoulders, dark suits. She said he was handsome and always arrived at five after eight every morning. I think she was trying to figure out his train schedule or something.

It was early when we finished eating, and Rose wanted me to join some of her friends at some new bar a few blocks away. I had met these friends before, and while they were probably really nice people, I was much too into my own head this evening to make small talk with others. Besides, I knew that this one girl would be there, and I was in no mood to block her every attempt to pry into my love life again. The last time we spoke, which happened to be the first time we met, she launched into a kamikaze attack, asking about my dating habits, where I was meeting men, what websites I chatted on, and when I was free. As a rule, I tried to not even reveal my single status on a first meeting, attempting to come up with less intimate things to talk about. Yet here was this gorgeous little girl with short, dark hair telling me all about how she had this feeling about the man she was destined to meet. In apparent preparation for him, she had given up sex; "random fucking" was her exact term. She still had her regulars though. I can only assume she meant that she hadn't given up sex altogether, though why she would tell me, a perfect stranger, was beyond me.

After my conversation with Rose tonight, I just didn't have the energy to ward off the intrusive little matchmaker. I had only had one glass of cabernet with dinner tonight, but my fingers were itching to get my pack of menthols out of my bag. I had officially quit smoking, so I had to hide my nasty little habit, especially from Rose. My stomach was already nervous just thinking of getting that first drag. I just wanted to go home, slip into pajamas and silently enjoy another glass or two.

I loved Rose, and she did her best to understand me. She even tried to get me to see a specialist at the hospital, explaining that it could be a physical problem. She should have known better though. There was no way in hell I was going to let some doctor examine me and then have to see him or her every time I walked the halls to records. Besides, I was a reader and researcher by nature. I had done enough reading to know that other than being a total spaz, there was nothing wrong with me. I wasn't on medication, although maybe I should be, and I wasn't too distressed about my lack of sexual functioning, unless of course someone was grilling me about it.

I wanted to believe that I was just waiting for the right person to wake up my mind and body, but by this point in my life, I essentially knew that I was just asexual. I did my best to put it all out of my head though, as I pulled out my Virginia Slim Menthol Ultra Lights. Unique, remember? I made my way around the corner and double-checked to make sure I was out of Rose's sight as I lit up. Ahhhh! I almost felt as though I could be in an advertisement.

Walking the few short blocks to my apartment gave the alcohol and nicotine a chance to settle into my bloodstream and lighten my head. I closed the door to my small home—one room, to be honest—and began undressing for bed. As I turned to get my fleecy and very unsexy pajama pants, I caught sight of myself in my large, antique mirror. Due to its weight, I never tried to hang it, I simply propped it against a wall. Its angle made me appear taller, though I didn't really need it. I thought about what Rose had said and instead of turning quickly away, as I normally would, I forced myself to look, really look at my body.

I had nice legs. My knees were a little knobby, but my legs were thin and long. I normally wore flats to work, what with the slippery hallways, but before the mirror now, I stood on my toes and watched the muscles in my calves lengthen. From behind, they looked much better. I wished my butt were a little more full, but there were no dimples in the flesh, and it had a nice little rounded shape where it met my thighs. Since I had left school, my hips and ass had broadened, but my waist was still nipped in, and I looked a little more womanly and less fourteen-year-old boyish.

Turning again, I settled my hands on my hips. I let my fingers wrap around my waist, and my fingertips touched my flat, smooth belly. I even tickled my fingers up a little, giving myself goose bumps. I felt silly though and laughed out loud at myself. I wasn't this sexy vixen who could put on a show for anyone, let alone myself. I did notice that my pubic hair needed to be trimmed. I thought back to the first time my roommate freshman year saw me naked. She couldn't stop staring at me, and for a minute, I let her. But it became uncomfortable when she gave me a weird look. Apparently, the fact that I had never shaved down there or even trimmed up the sides was odd. I was slow to understand what the problem was, but Leah explained how this wasn't the seventies and how no boy would want to go near that "mess." Her less-than compassionate spiel made me feel like Carrie in the locker room scene when she gets her first period. I just didn't know. I didn't have girlfriends I was that close to, and for all her comfort with sex, Renee never mentioned anything about that. Maybe a normal girl would have found out when she got curious and looked at pictures or when she went to pool parties with her peers.

But I wasn't normal. Hence the reason I considered hopping in the shower for the shaving thing. It was late, no one was going to see my body, and I had been drinking. Yet I couldn't get the conversation with Rose out of my head—and considering the particulars of that conversation, wouldn't I want everything to be clean and out of the way if I were to carry through with, well, with what we had talked about?

I was just going to look. At least then it wouldn't be one more abnormal thing about me. Not that anything would come of it. I would take a look, get the mystery out of the way, and maybe, just maybe, this would be one of those miracle cures that fixed me. I didn't take long in the shower, but if I was going to do this, then I was going to do it right, so I began the deforestation, and figured I would spot any missed areas.

When I got out of the shower, I lit up another cigarette and poured myself a large glass of wine. I gulped down the first glass and tried to think about some of the basic anatomy classes I had had. Like Rose had said, it's just my body, and for health purposes at the very minimum, I should have a good look. I filled my glass again and put on a tee shirt and pair of panties. I took a deep breath, heaved the mirror off the wall, and dragged it over toward the couch so I would have better lighting. I shut all my blinds and curtains for good measure and double-checked the lock on the door. I couldn't explain why I was acting like this was so dirty. Rose made it seem like this was a regular occurrence in most households. To be honest, the masturbation part probably was, but I had no intention of masturbating. It wouldn't do any good.

I think I was on my fourth glass of wine or more, and I had begun to sway-slash-dance about with a cigarette in hand. I thought of our conversation tonight. I thought of Rose and tried to invoke her confidence. I put a sway in my hips the way she would. I stood on my toes and pretended I was in five-inch heels that she would wear. I stood over the mirror first. I thought about squatting but figured I would quickly lose my balance. I knelt down and set my wine on the nearby table. Looking down at the mirror, I saw my face was flushed and the shirt billowed out to show my stomach and the bottom of my breasts. One more deep breath and I removed my shirt. On my knees, over a mirror, all alone, and more than a bit drunk, I looked down once more, and slid my panties to the side.

There were two slightly puffy but smooth lips. With my legs spread open, the lips at the top remained closed together, but toward the middle, they opened. I balanced myself on my knees and left palm and tried to open myself with my right hand. The black satin was in the way though and I knew I was being silly. I slipped off the panties and resumed my position on my knees. Using two fingers, I parted my labia to reveal another set of lips, these were looser and a deep pink. I continued to pull my hand toward my belly with my fingers still spreading my body. Suddenly, every Georgia O' Keefe painting I had ever seen came flooding to the surface of my memory.

A beautiful flower, an iris, a rose. Soft, open petals, velvety smooth, and shiny. As I raised my body up a little, a tiny red bud appeared, like the stamen of a calla lily. It wasn't gross or weird; it was beautiful and deep and inviting, and I was a little scared. I had no idea what I was doing. I just knew I wanted to see what else I could discover. So I touched the nub and jumped slightly. Holy fuck! Ouch!

I thought that was supposed to feel good! My hand immediately pulled back and I rubbed the area with the heel of my hand. Ooh, this was better. So I rubbed some more, just until the raw sting went away. But it created a new ache. My belly started to hurt, or my lower abdomen. It felt full and almost like there was a throb to it. The tender feeling was gone so I knew now not to touch it directly, but still, I wanted to see more. I moved the lamp to shine into the mirror so the shadow was no longer blocking my view. Using both hands I opened myself up again, my skin transitioned from cream to pink as it moved up into my body. The further I opened, the further I looked, the deeper pink my body became. I stroked my forefingers along the silky, flushed skin. The more my fingers tickled my body, the more slippery they became.

This felt good. I tried putting a finger inside, but it didn't feel quite right. So I went back to stroking and watching in rapt fascination as the aching intensified and my body began to leave a slick stickiness on my fingers. I closed my eyes and rubbed. I thought of Mike and felt the ache subside, but not the way I wanted it to. I shook my head to clear the visual. I began to get frustrated with myself again and almost said "fuck it" right there. But not thinking of anything or anyone felt so good before. Just looking at myself felt so right. I took another gulp of wine and tried to get my head back. I started with my breasts this time, just feeling the weight and palming my nipples. I ran my hands down my ribs and cupped my smooth pussy in my hand, letting my fingers dance along my slit. As I thought of how soft the skin was, I felt it get wet again.

Without consciously creating a fantasy, I saw a flash of Dr. Carlisle Cullen in my mind. His sharp jaw, his straight nose leading to that perfect little Cupid's bow of his lips became clearer. I saw him in his green scrubs for the OR but kneeling in front of him wasn't a picture of myself. It was the orderly from the third floor. I had no idea what his name was, but he was younger than Dr. Cullen and so much less refined. His jaw was scruffy and his lashes were long against his cheek that rested against Dr. Cullen's flat stomach. Dr. Cullen's pants were down, and the orderly was stroking his cock. I wanted to be startled at this image in my head, but the ache grew and the throbbing intensified. I leaned down to look at myself again. My skin was elastic and accommodating this time as I inserted a finger slowly. It only made the fullness worse, so I added a second. It was like my body was guiding me with what to do. But instead of my fingers, I thought of Alice, Rosalie's friend from the bar. I imagined how tiny her breasts would be, and I thought of licking her nipples, suckling at them. I wanted to put my fingers inside of her. I wanted to put my mouth on her heat and see if she would be slippery and wet like I was now. I leaned forward with my eyes closed, and pumped my fingers deep inside, searching for that spot I had heard of. Alice's fingers wouldn't reach, but the orderly's—his long fingers would find it—would fill me. My wrist was at an odd angle, but I found if I lowered my body and sat on it, the heel of my hand could palm my clit while my fingers worked the inside of my body.

I rocked back and forth on my hand while I thought of the orderly's copper hair tickling my shoulder blades as he took me from behind. I tasted Alice's sweet little mouth, peppermint and cherries, then her nipples, warm and hard in my mouth. I imagined her sex would smell inviting and delicious, like her breath. I thought of her taste there as I lay her down and spread her legs in front of me. My nameless man's long fingers wrapped hard around my hips while I licked and sucked at the girl's warm center, and then it was Angela. My sweet Angela, citrus and caramel filled my head. And she never would have told me I was wrong, or weird. She never made me feel different, just unique, and I buried my face in between her legs, her curls like the tiny petals of the heliotrope tickling my face.

My body shivered and my ache exploded and contracted around my fingers. They were soaked and the mirror was covered in a clear gush of the liquid proof my excitement and completion.

***AOI***

When I finished telling Rosalie about my experiment and how it felt so good but I was still confused, she hugged me close. "I knew you were special," she whispered into my ear as she kissed my neck.

End Note-

Please take the time to look up some of the work of the Georgia O'Keefe as well as some other beautiful flowers I've mentioned. It's amazing how beautiful we can find nature, but how dirty and ugly we can find our own genitalia despite the incredible similarities that the world has designed.


End file.
